fanfiction: Ruthless
Title: Ruthless
Author: bendingwind
Notes: [Doctor Who | M/R | 560 words |explicit violence, gore, torture; character death | AU]
Characters: dark!River, Korvarian, OCs
Summary: She isn’t like him; River Song never forgives. For crycrywolf's prompt at the Guns & Curls ficathon.
First, she kills her nurse, the psychologist who raised her on lies and taught them how best to bend her to their will. The death is quick and presumably painless, a few words exchanged-
What are you-?
Hello, Auntie.
Melody?
River.
-and a shot between the beady old eyes. Blood drips down, following the lines of Hilary Potts’ wrinkles like roots growing in the ground. River leans down and tugs her eyelids shut, and then steps over her and continues on her way.
***
She takes more time with her weapons master, a quick pause in the hall outside his quarters to stretch her body and switch her gun for a few antique knives. Always were his favorite, knives. He liked to leave little nicks on her arms when she disobeyed, when she failed to meet expectations. He said it was so she would remember; she knew it was because he loved the sight of blood.
So after she walks up to him, close, whispering sweet nothings as she presses her body to his back and slits his throat, she is careful to leave a neat set of slices trailing down his arms. She breaks his thumbs with her heels and strides out of the room, shoes clicking delicately on the floor.
***
It’s almost too easy, the way they’ve gathered into this deathtrap to try an escape her-she expected to spend years hunting the twenty-first century kidnapper they hired to take her mother. Instead she finds him in a toilet in his quarters, and she strangles him and cuts him up and stuffs him down the tank to rot with his shit and piss.
Better than he deserves, she thinks with disgust as she surveys his bald grey head and bulging red eyes. She slams the door behind her so hard that it falls off its hinges.
***
She enjoys killing Korvarian the most. She likes the look of horror in her dark eyes as she stitches her lips shut, likes the way she struggles against her bindings after the paralysis wears off. She likes to be the one who makes snide remarks this time-
Now who taunts who?
Now who knows best?
Now who gets to decide who will live, and who will die?
Who wins the war you started, Mother?
-and she likes being the one to slide needles thick with toxin through soft skin. Not to build up immunity, this time.
She hums as she walks out of the black office door for the final time, leaving the corpse bloated and blue behind her.
***
Hello.
She smiles as she walks through the final ring of blast doors protecting the Prophet. They slide shut behind her, and when they open again, the room is painted in red. She walks out, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. On the wall opposite, the word mercy has been scratched into the concrete.
***
She sits on the green grass by his grave. His ashes are half a world away at the bottom of a blue lake, but this is still where she comes to say goodbye.
I have my revenge, my love, she whispers to the headstone before she leaves. She has a ride in a blue box to catch, after all.
But don’t worry, I shan’t ever tell you they made me kill you.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns Doctor Who and the rights to any profit made from it--this is just fanfiction and I'm not making any. Etc.
Author: bendingwind
Notes: [Doctor Who | M/R | 560 words |explicit violence, gore, torture; character death | AU]
Characters: dark!River, Korvarian, OCs
Summary: She isn’t like him; River Song never forgives. For crycrywolf's prompt at the Guns & Curls ficathon.
First, she kills her nurse, the psychologist who raised her on lies and taught them how best to bend her to their will. The death is quick and presumably painless, a few words exchanged-
What are you-?
Hello, Auntie.
Melody?
River.
-and a shot between the beady old eyes. Blood drips down, following the lines of Hilary Potts’ wrinkles like roots growing in the ground. River leans down and tugs her eyelids shut, and then steps over her and continues on her way.
***
She takes more time with her weapons master, a quick pause in the hall outside his quarters to stretch her body and switch her gun for a few antique knives. Always were his favorite, knives. He liked to leave little nicks on her arms when she disobeyed, when she failed to meet expectations. He said it was so she would remember; she knew it was because he loved the sight of blood.
So after she walks up to him, close, whispering sweet nothings as she presses her body to his back and slits his throat, she is careful to leave a neat set of slices trailing down his arms. She breaks his thumbs with her heels and strides out of the room, shoes clicking delicately on the floor.
***
It’s almost too easy, the way they’ve gathered into this deathtrap to try an escape her-she expected to spend years hunting the twenty-first century kidnapper they hired to take her mother. Instead she finds him in a toilet in his quarters, and she strangles him and cuts him up and stuffs him down the tank to rot with his shit and piss.
Better than he deserves, she thinks with disgust as she surveys his bald grey head and bulging red eyes. She slams the door behind her so hard that it falls off its hinges.
***
She enjoys killing Korvarian the most. She likes the look of horror in her dark eyes as she stitches her lips shut, likes the way she struggles against her bindings after the paralysis wears off. She likes to be the one who makes snide remarks this time-
Now who taunts who?
Now who knows best?
Now who gets to decide who will live, and who will die?
Who wins the war you started, Mother?
-and she likes being the one to slide needles thick with toxin through soft skin. Not to build up immunity, this time.
She hums as she walks out of the black office door for the final time, leaving the corpse bloated and blue behind her.
***
Hello.
She smiles as she walks through the final ring of blast doors protecting the Prophet. They slide shut behind her, and when they open again, the room is painted in red. She walks out, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. On the wall opposite, the word mercy has been scratched into the concrete.
***
She sits on the green grass by his grave. His ashes are half a world away at the bottom of a blue lake, but this is still where she comes to say goodbye.
I have my revenge, my love, she whispers to the headstone before she leaves. She has a ride in a blue box to catch, after all.
But don’t worry, I shan’t ever tell you they made me kill you.
Disclaimer: The BBC owns Doctor Who and the rights to any profit made from it--this is just fanfiction and I'm not making any. Etc.